


Parent Teacher Night

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-25
Updated: 2009-04-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Instead of going to the school to fight the Slayer, Spike gets distracted by running into Angel. Oh well, a fight is a fight.





	Parent Teacher Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nero_nailpolish](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nero_nailpolish).



> Mod Challenge!  
> For nero_nailpolish:  
> Dear Hello_Spikey, can I have a Spangel take on the episode Smashed? Set to either season 2 of Buffy or Season 5 of Angel with lots of angst and fighting? Rating R/NC-17, it that's okay ;)
> 
> Well, I interpreted this as having Spike and Angel fight themselves into a frenzy and then get it on. ;)  
> Set during "School Hard", if Spike had met up with Angel before going to the school.
> 
> Not-worksafe, as promised. There's fighting and much manlove!

It was two nights until St. Vigeous, and the vampires were chanting and praying and burning incense like they were preparing for a visit from the pope. Spike felt an itch in his legs, an itch for action. His princess lay languishing, lovely in her fragility. While he did what he could to entertain her, there were long stretches when Dru simply didn’t want him bothering her. She wanted to rest or play with her dolls.

It was enough to drive a vampire to drink.

He woke up that afternoon with a delightful idea: move the attack on the slayer up! He didn’t need any mystical power-boost to kill a slayer. He’d never had one before! And, really, they were vampires! All this “waiting for the right day” bollocks smacked of the sort of mentality that got insurance policies sold.

But the first minion he approached with the idea just squinted and said, “No, dude. That’s just… stupid.”

So he killed him.

And then there was minion uproar, many knickers twisted, and the Annoying One got his snotty little nose in it. These vampires were about as fun as a wet sock.

Fine. He didn’t need them to have a good time. He went out on the hunt. Maybe he’d just attack the slayer all on his lonesome. That would show them.

He took a deep lungful of fresh night air and tried to differentiate that aura of power that was the Slayer. It was a heady scent, slayer. Made his scalp itch like horseradish; every sense tingled with “be afraid” and he delighted in that.

So, it could safely be said he was  _not_  out looking for his long-lost sire.

He wasn’t even thinking of the bastard. (He was still a little sore about having to swim seven miles to beat the sun back in the forties. Dick.) So he didn’t notice he was following a familiar scent until there he was: Angelus, standing outside a butcher shop with a pint container in one hand, peering at the headlines in the newspaper box.

Spike felt an instant pang and joy, and then, quickly, resentment. He was in town? And he didn’t tell anyone? What if Spike had killed the slayer, healed Dru, and been on his merry without once running in to him? Dick!

“They’ll let just about anyone in here,” he said, testing the waters with a little humor.

Angelus straightened, eyes wide. “Spike.”

“No, the Easter bunny. Where the bloody hell have you been, Angelus? Not like you to stay off the radar.” Spike bit the inside of his lip, looking his sire up and down. Christ, it wasn’t true, was it? That rumor about curses and souls and goody-goodying it up?

Angelus smirked. “All on your own, Spike? No backup? Not very smart. I taught you better.”

Spike felt a moment’s relief. “Well, got you for back up now, don’t I? What’s that?” He grabbed for the Styrofoam container.

Angelus jerked back his arm and the lid popped free, sloshing a cold, refrigerator smell. Spike leaned forward. “Pig’s blood?” He wrinkled his nose. “Tell me that’s a spell component or something.”

Suddenly defensive, Angelus muttered, “Go away, Spike,” and turned, hurrying up the street, hunched over his cup of blood.

“No! Hang on a tick!” Spike followed him with large, confident strides. “You haven’t gone soft, have you? The Great Angelus?”

He caught up to Angel at a doorway. He grabbed his shoulder.

And was resoundingly punched.

Spike recovered from the blow with one of his own, catching Angelus right on the jaw. The Styrofoam container of animal blood hit the sidewalk, bleeding its contents.

“You want to do this, Spike?” Angelus straightened his shoulders. “Because we both know how it ends. I beat you. I always beat you.”

With a growl, Spike tackled his midsection, throwing him through the door and into an abandoned shop. They hit the floor with a scattering of glass and skidded on dirty linoleum. Angel threw Spike off of him.

Spike fell through an old counter, scattering more glass and bits of wood. “Stay away from me, Spike. Or I will stake you.

“You can try.” Spike crawled out of the wreckage and they stood, fists clenched. “All this time, I thought it wasn’t true. You Uncle Tom! You traitor! You… you were my Yoda!”

“Well, gee, Spike, if I’d have known you’d be this needy…” Angel’s eye-roll was cut off with another screaming tackle. They rolled together over the litter-strewn floor.

Angel gained the upper hand and pushed Spike against the wall. “You think this is about you? None of this is about you. You’re nothing to me.”

“Of course.” Spike kicked Angel away from him and paused to adjust the lay of his duster. “The great Angelus thinks it’s all about  _him_. What? Got tired of being the biggest bad, now you have to be the most  _tortured_?” He laid a hand on his chest and smirked in mock sympathy.

To Spike’s surprise, Angel looked actually  _hurt_ , he glanced away and muttered, “You can’t begin to understand. It would be like explaining politics to mosquitoes.”

“So I’m stupid, now?” Spike tilted his head back, eyes flashing with challenge.

The melancholy evaporated from Angel’s face. “No,” he said, and a corner of his mouth lifted. “You were always stupid.”

Angel was ready for him, now, in a fighting stance as he advanced, and they traded a few blows and blocks in quick succession, moving in synchronicity, kick, block, punch, block, sweep, jump, step… until Spike checked a blow, breaking the rhythm, and mule-kicked Angel across the room.

Support beams groaned and a rain of plaster and lath fell. Angel coughed and charged, shoulder down, eyes glinting amber in the haze of dust.

They hit the opposite wall. Something shattered – neither cared to know what or where. They were fighting for their lives now, animals, caught in the struggle without thought, without words, until Spike at last had the upper hand again. He pressed Angel into a wall of crumbling brick, caught his breath, licked his lips, and said, “You never knew me, did you? You’re going to die now, and it’ll be because you underest…”

His victory crow was silenced by the soft press of lips. His eyes widened, eyebrows climbing up his face as he realized Angel was kissing him. And he should probably do something about that. Like, break away… or…

With a move as violent as any of their grappling, Spike reversed their positions. His fists flattened into palms pressing flesh, and then moved around, to grip, to hold, to press their bodies tighter.

Dru’d been sick so long.

They broke, at last, and there was a pause, staring at each other open-mouthed, and there was something in Angel’s eyes, need. Had it been even longer for the old man? He was moving his large hands up and down Spike’s body like he couldn’t believe he was touching him.

Spike cleared his throat. “So, uh, this sworn enemies thing…”

“Shut up, Spike,” Angel growled, and tackled him to the floor.

There was no talking after that. They battled again, but this time the enemies were “lack of touch” and “clothing”.

And they were kicking those blokes’ asses.

Naked, they squirmed through broken glass and fallen beams unnoticing. They had no senses for anything but each other.

Hands pressed hard into bruises they had made, and teeth clenched on flesh and pain was pleasure and Spike supposed he should be fighting this harder – at the last minute he tried to push away, to bring his legs together, but Angelus was hurting him in just the right way, making him quiver like a broken spring and destroying and creating him all at once.

There was pain - oh yes there was pain - as always new and frightening and not what he wanted or expected but there was no escape, nothing but nails and glass and broken wood behind him, and then it didn't matter, because outside of the pain there was touch, and that was worth it.

Fangs scraped against fangs in sloppy kisses that cut lips and tongues and they rutted hard and fast and painfully. And then they did it again, slow and tender and with more pleasure in the pain, stairing at each other a silent plea not to break the spell with words.

When Spike woke up the next day, he was alone, quite unsure if he could stand, much less walk, and a shaft of golden sunlight fell brokenly on the ruinous mess around him. He laughed. “We broke the building!” He ran a hand over the wooden beam behind his head, like caressing a luxuriant pillow, and wished that someone else had been there to see.


End file.
